


Late, But Well Kissed

by LostChanceTo



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Humanformers, Other, just a little kissing in the shower, soft, there's no smut, they're???? lesbians????, whirl shows up for 0.5 seconds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 01:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostChanceTo/pseuds/LostChanceTo
Summary: Cyclonus isn't a morning person (Tailgate makes everything better than it ought to be).





	Late, But Well Kissed

“Cyclonus, it’s time to wake up.”

 

Cyclonus whimpered and tried to bury herself deeper into the blankets. Her wife snorted and an insistant hand tugged at her shoulder. Cyclonus groaned and curled tighter. The cold hand disappeared from her shoulder. Cyclonus slowly relaxed back into the warmth, lost in the scent of her perfume mixing with her wife’s. A pillow found its way into her arms and Cyclonus tugged it close.

 

“Come on! It’s a new day.”

 

Cyclonus finally turned over and cracked open an eye. Tailgate laid on her stomach, buck naked and smiling in that early morning I-haven’t-brushed-my-teeth-but-still-want-a-kiss way of hers. Cyclonus tilted her head forwards and Tailgate snorted. She moved closer anyway for a closed lip kiss. Cyclonus’ eyes slipped shut again. Tailgate was warm.

 

All too soon the kiss ended and Tailgate pulled away. Cyclonus mumbled a protest, still too sleepy to articulate properly. Tailgate was beautiful, her short hair a fluffy mess, her hips and shoulders silhouetted against the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows, little hands crossed over her chest, beaming with all the strength of the morning sun. Cyclonus was, as always, caught speechless, stunned by her beauty.

 

“We’re gonna be late,” Tailgate said, “I hope you realize it’ll be your fault.” Cyclonus grunted out something similar to an agreement. Tailgate shook her head and wandered off. Cyclonus watched her go, eyes drawn to the sway of her wide hips, the stretchmarks and pimples peppering her skin, the red imprint of the bed and blankets.

 

Cyclonus shifted in her spot as her beloved stepped into the en suite bathroom. Small bare feet against the tiles they’d chosen and installed together last year. If Cyclonus angled herself just so -  _ there _ . She could see Tailgate’s face. Her plush lips. Her bright blue eyes. The careless way she scratched at her hair while she brushed her teeth.

 

Wrapped thrice around with blankets, Cyclonus’ excuse to ward off the sparkle in her beloved’s eyes was that she was cold. Tailgate’s own skin was covered in goosebumps, but she always insisted on sleeping and getting ready naked. She had a plethora of reasons, starting with ease of access, brushing against her teenage years in California, lingering on the way Cyclonus’ eyes would follow her around, the look on Cyclonus’ face, the blush on her high cheeks, the shy denial of ever looking, so on and so forth.

 

Some part of Cyclonus regretted not getting up with her wife. She wanted to stand there under the harsh bathroom lights, barefoot, her own fingers running through Tailgate’s short hair. To put the soft smile back on Tailgate’s face, to mutter a stupid joke or string of sounds that didn’t quite make sense, to revel in the way her beloved giggled and leaned against Cyclonus like it was the most natural thing.

 

Tailgate’s hand fell from her head to scratch along her neck and collarbone, gaze blank as she ran her brush over picture perfect teeth. Cyclonus finally mustered the strength to sit upright. Tailgate’s hand dropped to her stomach, then found its way to her back. She spluttered as one of her fingers scraped over a pimple. She twisted to try and see it, frowning.

 

When it became apparent that she wouldn’t be able to see it on her own, Tailgate reached for the fancy container Scourge gave them. She had to half turn to reach it and Cyclonus’ eyes caught on the swell of her stomach, the soft slope of her chest. That Tailgate trusted her to see that, that Tailgate trusted Cyclonus at all, made Cyclonus want to lay back down and beam at nothing for the rest of the day.

 

Tailgate pulled out a nearly empty jar full of cream and held it up. “Can you put this on me?” Her beloved gurgled around the spit and toothpaste in her mouth. Cyclonus mumbled an agreement and Tailgate turned to glare at her. “I know you’re cold, but I’ve got another pimple.” Cyclonus frowned and tried to push her voice past near-silent-rasp to say she would. It didn’t work. “Alright, fine, you were right. The cream works. Will you put it on me?” Cyclonus gave up on her vocal cords and nodded. Tailgate smiled. “Thanks.”

 

She put the jar on the sink and spat out the toothpaste. Cyclonus shuffled closer to the edge of the bed, heart sinking at the prospect of leaving her warm cocoon. She stared at the carpet floor, dreading the moment the cold air touched her skin. The faucet was running and Cyclonus looked over to see Tailgate running through the first half of her usual beauty regimen.

 

Cyclonus redirected her gaze to the carpet. She sighed as the water turned off and Tailgate’s feet slapped against the tile floor. Cyclonus reluctantly broke open her cocoon and stumbled onto the floor. Tailgate laughed and Cyclonus looked up to see her standing at the edge of the tiles, arms wet up to the elbows and face dripping.

 

“I love watching you get out of bed,” Tailgate said cheerfully, “you’re so much less coordinated than you normally are.” Cyclonus flipped her the bird and her wife laughed again. “I’m gonna shower.” Cyclonus mumbled and Tailgate blew her a kiss before disappearing into the shower stall.

 

Cyclonus hurried to use the toilet and wash up, thoughts lingering on Tailgate’s smile and how her giggle had broken the monotony of the morning with her light. Cyclonus kept glancing at the shower stall as she brushed her own jagged, pointy teeth, the normally clear glass fogged with steam. She could see the outline of Tailgate’s body as she stood under the spray. Cyclonus took a couple seconds to just let her mind refocus and calm down. Her heart, as usual, refused to listen and took off at the speed of light at any and every thought of her wife.

 

The shower door was open, their version of an open invitation. Still, Cyclonus knocked lightly on the wall before she stepped inside. Tailgate smiled up at her and Cyclonus smiled back as she reached for Tailgate’s shampoo. She squeezed some out and massaged it into her wife’s dyed white hair, humming a long forgotten song. Tailgate turned to face Cyclonus, chest pressed against Cyclonus’ lower stomach.

 

Cyclonus shuddered a little as Tailgate pressed her face against Cyclonus’ ribs, kissing gently, before kissing up her breast to her nipple. Heat, different from the heat of the blankets, washed through Cyclonus as Tailgate sucked at it, hand coming up to knead at Cyclonus’ other breast. 

 

Cyclonus shook her mind free from the haze threatening to take over and craned her neck to peer through the hole Whirl had punched through the glass last Halloween -  _ “I dub thee Whirl’s Anus!” Whirl yelled, waving her disconnected prosthetic arm with her flesh, blood, and metal arm _ \- and check the time. The bathroom clock, positioned to be easily seen from the hole, was foggy from the heat of the shower.

 

“We’re going to be late,” were Cyclonus’ first coherent words of the day. Tailgate pouted but moved back from Cyclonus’ chest, eyes sparkling. Cyclonus tugged on the ends of Tailgate’s hair. “Rinse.” While Tailgate did that, Cyclonus grabbed Tailgate’s conditioner. As soon as Tailgate leaned back out of the spray, Cyclonus dragged her conditioner-slick hands through Tailgate’s bleach damaged hair.

 

“Rodimus isn’t gonna care if we’re late,” Tailgate said as she reached for the loofah and lavender-scented liquid soap Cyclonus liked. “We’re usually late, remember?”

 

Cyclonus just nodded and rubbed the conditioner off her hands on Tailgate’s shoulders. Tailgate giggled at her and held out the soapy loofah. Cyclonus took it and knelt in front of Tailgate so Tailgate could shampoo Cyclonus’ long hair. She sighed, content, as Tailgate’s small hands massaged her head. She almost forgot to use her loofah to wash away the night’s exhaustion.

 

Cyclonus finished before Tailgate did, so she waited patiently on her knees, loofah idly rubbing just under her rib cage, where there was always dirt and dead skin cells. At some point, Tailgate started singing nonsense lyrics to the tune Cyclonus hummed. Cyclonus, with her eyes closed and the water falling onto her shoulders and flowing down her body, could almost pretend they were at the small waterfall near her hometown, rather than an apartment in a city. Instead of a full day of reunions and adventures, all they had to do was clean the home or walk along the river, singing and talking and marveling in each other’s existence.

 

Too soon, the moment was over, and Tailgate’s hands left Cyclonus’ hair. Cyclonus stood and rinsed herself off. Tailgate didn’t do anything to help, just stared up at Cyclonus, smiling softly, looking happy. It warmed Cyclonus’ heart to see her wife stare at her like that. Like she’d never let Cyclonus go.

 

Unable to help herself, Cyclonus leaned down for another kiss. This time, Tailgate didn’t let her free until they were well and truly late.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave kudos and a comment!


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